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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25968430">Roar Unheard and Curling Crest Unseen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk'>Muccamukk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Babylon 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Era, Gardens &amp; Gardening, Gen, Gratuitous Literary References &amp; Allusions, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Season/Series 01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:48:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>728</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25968430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A weed is growing in Commander Sinclair's Zen garden.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Delenn &amp; Jeffrey Sinclair</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Babylon 5 Love Month</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Roar Unheard and Curling Crest Unseen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from AS Byatt.</p>
<p>Written for Babylon 5 Love Month.</p>
<p>Thank you to Nenya for checking it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A weed is growing in Commander Sinclair's Zen garden. Delenn first notices it during an evening meditation, as her eyes follow the raked lines in the gravel, contemplating the paradox of rippling water frozen in time. She could have frozen a moment like that, commanding the screens of her battle fleet to pause the battle and display it from every possible angle, the flames and gouts of debris caught in the midst of annihilating life, even the beams of the energy weapons stilled in their light-speed menace.</p>
<p>Somehow, this garden surpasses that illusion of having more time, the ripples are not frozen, for that would imply that they exist in a space that acknowledges kinetics. But then there is the weed. As Delenn's eye follows the curving line of raked gravel, it stands out like an exploding star, its sharp leaves brilliant against the grey. She stares at it, wondering at the boldness of such a plant, to push its way up through bare, unfertilised gravel into a world where the very air is rationed.</p>
<p>Delenn's heart stills in her chest. If it is permitted to grow, the weed will blossom entropy across the immaculate order of the garden's microcosm. She contemplates its spread, the way it might push the gravel aside, making ripples of the slowest possible kind, but not in the order of a still-frozen pond, but in the way nature does, an ugly upwelling of uninvited life.</p>
<p>When the station's lights dim, and Delenn departs for her quarters, she assumes that she will return the following day to find the weed absent, its very existence annihilated for the sake of the restoration of grace. The gardeners work in the station's night, moving in a shadow shift to avoid the passage of the daytime visitors. One of them will pull the weed, as another rakes the paths.</p>
<p>The thought tugs at her mind, drawing her back to the garden before the station's dawn. She settles on the bench and stares out at the expanse of stone, her breath catching in her throat.</p>
<p>The weed is still there, its leaves unfurling as she watches, each one as sharp as the stabiliser of a battle cruiser. It will have another day of life.</p>
<p>Delenn is leaning forward, her eyes fixed on the weed when Sinclair drifts into the garden. He sits on the bench beside her folds his hands in his lap, and considers for a moment before speaking.</p>
<p>"My people call it the tree of heaven," he says.</p>
<p>Heaven is one of the human religious beliefs: stagnation after death.</p>
<p>"It would seem to be the opposite," Delenn remarks.</p>
<p>She doesn't expect Sinclair to laugh, hadn't meant it as a joke, just like she hadn't meant to let the sound of the low rumble in his chest warm her.</p>
<p>"That has been said," Sinclair tells her, "especially by gardeners."</p>
<p>She considers the cost of the restoration of order, and thinks it may not be desirable. "I saw it yesterday, and expected that it would be gone by now."</p>
<p>"Tomorrow." Sinclair is watching her not the weed—the tree of heaven—but Delenn stares straight ahead.</p>
<p>She decides that, if the weed is to be given only one more day of life, she will honour it with her attention. She folds her body into discipline of contemplation, and centres the off-centre design of the weed in her mind.</p>
<p>The station lights brighten, Sinclair departs, the day passes by, the lights dim. In that time, the leaves have spread wide, and the thrusting stem has pushed a little more of the gravel aside.</p>
<p>Delenn rises, bows, and departs.</p>
<p>When she returns in the morning, the weed is gone, and the perfection of the gravel restored. She nods to herself, having expected nothing else. Such is the way of the universe.</p>
<p>"I thought I'd find you here." Sinclair's voice surprises her, even though Delenn should have known to expect it.</p>
<p>He doesn't sit, but stands with one hand tucked into his trouser pocket, and the other tucked slightly behind his back.</p>
<p>"I have something for you."</p>
<p>Delenn tilts her head in a question, but it isn't until she rises, ready to depart, that he reveals what he's holding: a small clay vessel filled with the dark soil of his planet, and growing from it the beginnings of a tree of heaven.</p>
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